Like Father, Like Lover
by Once Upon A Bloody Sunday
Summary: Prideship. Abuse, B-Mod, Other, Tort, Violence, WIP


**Like Father, Like Lover**

Author's Note: No, I do not condone violence in this aspect. Yes, I do think it would be awesome to be able to rip people to pieces and not get in trouble for it.

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_"Stop struggling." Hard words cut through Seto's ears. "It'll only hurt more." Pain raced through him. He doubted it could hurt more._

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"He passed out. More's the pity..."

"Sir?"

"I'm waiting for him to wake up. You're dismissed until later."

"Yes, sir."

The door closed. I stood, padding slowly towards the worthless scrap of skin and bones that dared to believe it was worthy to bear my name. No blood stained its clothing - not yet. But we'd only barely begun.

It didn't take long for him to awake. Long enough...but I had my tools out by then. Eyes fluttered open, and his breathing pattern changed. Subtle shifts, but there.

He curled up when he saw me; such reactions were only to be expected. His body remembered. I smiled, and leaned in. "You've healed since our last session." His body was whole once again. This time I did not intend to allow it the luxury of full recovery.

His eyes were dead. Beautiful, dead eyes. I grabbed one arm when he tried to move away. Joints are delicate things; they are not made to be twisted outside their normal range. Forcing them hurts. It is one thing to stretch a limb; quite another to rip it out of place.

So much more delicious.

He screamed when his arm came loose from his body. I laughed. "Are you crying already?" Where was the boy's pride in himself? He couldn't seriously expect to deal with my company if he was incapable of handling a little pain.

"Scream all you want; only silence can save you." He knew the rules once, when we first began our games, but time seemed to have erased them from his mind. Blue eyes glared at me. I smiled. "Still trying to fight me? When will you learn..."

Never, of course. I knew he would never remember enough to escape, because the rules always changed once he learned them. The balance was always in my favor. But that was how life was. It was time for him to man up.

I twisted his arm. A thin, high whine escaped him. I slapped his face. He winced, but stayed silent. He was learning. Good. Now to see what he could really stand...

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Broken, choked sobs echoed. I pulled back to survey my handiwork. He was clipped to the wall, courtesy of leather and steel, holding his bare body stationary. One arm was broken - I'd done that almost at once in our game. The arm I'd popped out of the socket was twisted at an odd angle behind him.

A shallow cut across his face bled sluggishly. His blue eyes were closed tightly. I had hardly done anything. A broken arm, minor lacerations; these were little things of no consequence.

I was ready to present my heir apparent with something much more agonizing.

"Hold still. It'll only hurt more."

And yet he continued to fight against the network of straps and buckles holding him helpless. I shook my head. The fool. Nor chain nor leather would give under the stress of his body. He fought in vain. He fought for his freedom.

He fought to amuse me.

I smiled. He was succeeding. The symphony of gasps and hisses, mingled with the dry sobs that wracked his body, left a warm feeling in my chest. My hands held the next phase of his training.

The knife was heavy in my grip. It had to be - the long steel blade had once lived in a butcher's shop. Now it would be cutting flesh of a different variety.

Those blue eyes widened, and he howled as I approached.

A more..._lively_ variety.

He knew he was helpless to stop me from the beginning. Eventually fighting becomes reflex. He was making too much noise, though. He'd forgotten the rule about silence. A rag tied tightly - it pulled the corners of his mouth into a charming smile - quieted him.

His broken arm...the loosened one... Too easy. Pain cannot congregate all in the same spot. It needs t be spread out, or the body will reject it. His legs had gone untouched long enough.

The knife made a soft hiss as it broke through layers of muscle in his right thigh. I looked up to see his expression. Blue eyes pressed shut, his slim frame shaking. Over-use...my, my my.

Here was the fun. The knife went down, slicing through until the sharp edge grated against bone. He was bleeding, but not as much as he would be. I discarded the knife and smiled up at him.

He refused to meet my eyes.

I dug my fingers into the cut, prying the slabs of skin apart. My nails dug into the bloody mess, sending shivers through his body. I pulled until his shrieks could be heard as loudly as if he hadn't the gag at all.

And then... I let go. Fished in my pocket for something more entertaining. A small bottle, unlabeled, came up. Without looking up, I unfastened the cap and dumped the contents into the gap of flesh. He began to shake wildly; there had been good reason for the restraints. Salt has such delicious effects on open wounds. But that wasn't the only ingredient to go into the bloody stew; lemon found its way in as well.

I needed to sew up the cut. He was twitching too much to allow me to keep my stitches even. The knitting needle poked awkwardly though the skin, dragging thick hemp cord behind it. In a few days, it should be partly healed.

I'll rip out the stitches then.

Today though...

He was still convulsing. I hadn't even hurt him that badly. I can't imagine what he'd do if I _really_ injured him. He'll only have scars from this; he won't die. Though, now that I think of it, maybe I_will_ kill him. Just to show him what it's like.

It was something new for him to learn.

I stood and opened the restraints. For now, things were completed. Later would come later, and we could deal with later...then.

But not now.

I reached down to grab his broken arm, smirking at the gasping behind the gag. It was already broken... A twist helped the matter: bone fragments shown through the skin, protruding and folding to make a second elbow in his forearm.

I hauled him to his feet, called in the others to handle him. Maybe a few more training sessions. _Then_ he'll be ready. Always a few more. He never does quite seem to learn.

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_"Stop struggling." The same words, again and again. "It'll only hurt more." He thought it __**had **__hurt more._

_He was wrong._

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Part II to be coming shortly._

If you've managed to make it this far, then you're damn well obligated to review. If not, then fuck you too. ^^


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